


Washed with Eager Hands

by Cities_In_Dust



Series: Stitches On Patches AU [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, Family, Gen, Love, Mystery, No Place Like REDACTED - AU, Original Character(s), Other, Rating May Change, all my immortals really, characters may be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cities_In_Dust/pseuds/Cities_In_Dust
Summary: Decades after The Second Great War, Aziraphale and Crowley have learned and gained much. But a disturbing article pops up, about a stolen weapon more powerful than time, and they take the difficult task of finding The Doctor. If only Crowley could remember anything about the secretive organization they suspect is hiding him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Stitches On Patches AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778590
Kudos: 2





	1. Guard with Your Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This installment of my very multiversal AU includes part of an original story, the town/school where No Place Like REDACTED takes place. It's my take on Dark Academia, but it will get Crowley and Aziraphale to the next place they need to be.
> 
> \---
> 
> UPDATE: 12/7 Just posted a short update! Thanks for waiting while I work out my block XD #Love
> 
> \---
> 
> Title is a lyric from "Cities In Dust" by Siouxsie and The Banshees.

PRIMAL WEAPON STOLEN BY OCCULT FORCES, the patched-together newspaper declared. Aziraphale became increasingly concerned as she read though it. Finally, she called for her wife, unable to keep her voice from its tremor.

“What’s got you, angel?” Crowley scans the paper, but slows down at its description of the missing weapon. “What’s this?”

“Well what do you think? I only know of one force of nature, that appears all about time and space, leaving disaster in its wake.”

Crowley sits, examining the rest of the paper. “Doesn’t say it’s a person, but doesn’t say what it actually is, either… Nothing showing up anywhere else. Very odd, angel, but…” Her golden eyes flit from her wife back to the article. “How do we even confirm wether or not this is The Doctor? He could be in several places across the universe, at any point in time.”

“We must try, love. Remember when he blew through the old bookshop, before Adam?” In the back of a small kitchen drawer, she found a small envelope, tucked closed, labeled ‘for emergencies’.

“Yeah, ‘course. Gave you your sword back.”

Aziraphale carefully opened the envelope. Inside it was a note, and a small, strange key.

“Well he left this with it. ‘Guard these with your life.’ It’s got a modern phone number, with um… an extension, of some kind? What are these symbols?”

Crowley picked up the key. Not made anywhere on Earth, that was for sure. And the energy of it…. 

“Give me the paper, angel.” She quickly snapped the sequence into an old rotary phone hanging nearby, and waited through the dial tone.

Loud, harrowing cloisters reverberated from disconnected speakers. Crowley hung up.

“Who wrote that article?”

Aziraphale puts on her reading glasses, tilts her head up a fraction. “Mx Gusion, for Vain Media, published in The Oracular. Isn’t that a paper for archimages?”

“Non-human, specifically… But they— they have a vested interest in um… supernatural weapons. I think. I forget… I forget what they call the division….”

“Crowley? Dear, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just, can’t for life of me remember… anything about it… I swear I….” She got a bit dizzy, and turned to try to clear her head.

“Crowley, is your mind, well— is it sliding around the subject like it shouldn’t be fathomed?”

“You could say that, yeah. Honestly, it puts me off trying to focus on it.” She wobbled her way to a chair and flunked down in it. 

Aziraphale stood, and got the scotch down from an open shelf. “Remember the goguettes, the music clubs we frequented in Paris? 1830’s, I think it was? Before Wagner.”

Shaking her head of its plight, Crowley gratefully accepted and emptied her drink. Her wife was then lightly busy with the newspaper and a notepad, yet still attentive to the conversation. Crowley continued.

“Yesss, the singing and the coffee. We were only there for, what, two weeks, then we traveled south? And when you found a legitimate copy of a Pythic Oracle, you somehow convinced your superiors that hiding in a book shop would benefit everybody. But book collecting was always your thing, angel. I’m really happy that worked out for you. I mean, after I saved you from near decapitation. I can’t believe you went back to France! For crepes!”

Aziraphale smiled, and explained patiently, “Well, I missed you. And after the bookshop plans were finalized, I thought… well, They had every reason to keep a closer eye on me, didn’t They?”

Gold eyes blinked open. _You just popped across the Channel, during a revolution, because you wanted something to nibble?_ The Angel had looked almost guilty, and then tried to hide it in a pout. _Dressed like that?_ Crowley held her head.

“Satan alive, angel… I always keep an eye out for you, but…”

“But what? It was thrilling, and you know it.”

“Damsel in distress, this one. Really goes big, or goes home.”

“Must have been all those books.” Aziraphale tidied up her papers and moved a lock of curls out of the way. 

Crowley had to give her credit for the undeniably sexy way Aziraphale held herself when she refused to apologize for reckless behavior. In all honesty, she liked the way her eternal companion came out of her shell, as it were. The War wasn’t kind to anybody, and they both had to step up in ways they couldn’t predict.

“Incorrigible.”

“I found them. The author, that is. Mx Gusion is a moniker, but he’s made quite a few notes on a computer that reference, I believe, the division unremembered.”

“What? How’d you do that?” Crowley took the paper once again. The main article now boasted conspiracy-like stories and bullet lists about a perpetually unknown placed called [REDACTED]. The other snippets were blank, their feeds carefully disrupted.

“The same way you put together the newspaper, dear, except much sneakier.” Aziraphale remained enthused. “This place is rumored to collect weapons of great power. Especially after the War.” Her voice faltered at the end.

It had been decades since the War ended. Crowley didn’t remember seeing The Doctor in all that time. What if he did come back, and something terrible happened?

“Right, wh— angel?”

“I’m ahead of you, love. In here, I’ve got a map.”

When exactly did she zonk out? This whole thing was driving her mad already.

In the drawing room, Aziraphale held a glowing globe of the Earth in the air before her. Its surface diagrams shifted to reflect the current state She was in. Many green lands were now sand or snow, but by the same token, many almost barren places now held new abundance. Most coastal boundaries, and cities, now had different placements.

There were also several oddly-shaded areas, of varying sizes. Their edges bled into their surroundings, almost into the globe itself. They didn’t have a label, nor designation in the map key.

Crowley gazed at them, memorized their placements. However, she soon forgot them, and cursed.

“Hold on, dear. This is the hard part…!” 

Blue lines flashed across the rounded plane, while temporary blue dots appeared in others. 

Eyes wide, Crowley realized she was trying to lock onto the TARDIS. Using a miracle, and her experience inside the Box, she could, theoretically. But, from the chaos on the surface, it looked like she was failing. The TARDIS was in too many places for an ancient being to focus on it properly.

From the tears on her cheeks, it looked like the Angel was loosing more than her connection.

“Crowley…?” 

Aziraphale couldn’t see past the strange light in her eyes. So Crowley gently stepped in between her and the globe, and reached out.

“Right here, angel. Focus on just you and me—:”

“But The Doctor—.”

“No, that’s not where you begin. The TARDIS reads you like a signpost, right?”

“Right. So where do I—.”

“Here, love,” Crowley got as close as she could manage in all the brightness. “Here, with me, in this room, at this very moment. She can read us both, right? It will have to be enough for us to find Her and The Doctor.”

“Okay….” Aziraphale closed her eyes, reached back out to Crowley with three dozen unseen hands, and just let them be a beacon.

All it took was a few moments.

The globe abruptly lifted itself out of her hands, and back into its stand. It was still glowing, still turning, but there was a path now. A blue light encircled the planet, touching down in a few places.

It was a good thing Crowley was already holding the Angel; she might’ve needed some help up.

Aziraphale kissed her wife and let herself be held. “Did it work?”

Crowley glanced at the globe, drifting on like it knew nothing else.

“Yeah, angel. It worked.”

“Good, good,” the Angel breathed. “Now, let’s make some tea, and then… let’s find The Doctor.”


	2. Spellbound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and song referenced are Siouxsie and The Banshees lyrics ~x

Before their feet lay a buffering line that nobody ever seemed to cross, let alone notice. Vibrant leaves shuffled across the old tar that devolved into dirt, that sprung into miles of ancient trees.

Crowley glanced around one last time. Spring lingered in the quiet town, but Autumn rolled out before them.

“You armed, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled and held out her hand. Her frame was now slightly smaller, even to her hair, freshly sleek. Considering her propensity for lightning and fire as tools, Aziraphale was indeed a well-sharpened weapon all on her own. A detailed, gold arm cuff peaked out from under a delicate sweater: her own flaming sword. Thus, she confirmed to be armed in more ways than one.

“And you, love?”

To say a shadow passed over him would be misdirection. Even though he stood tall and dark, over the centuries Crowley learned to use his cursed form to an advantage. It left what skin he possessed littered with scars, but he didn’t need to use a glamour anymore. No matter what shape he took, the phrase ‘as dangerous as his counterpart’ proved to be an oversimplification time and again. He nodded.

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and pocketed the other. A different celestial weapon gilded each of his wrists, though well hidden by his will, and by his heavy biker’s jacket. They crossed the dimensional threshold, and started to make their way through vermillion woods.

A ways into the Autumn, a thin, rickety bridge rolled lazily across a wide river. Beyond it, a narrow path filled in with leaves. They thought they saw something down near the other end.

Nevertheless, the surrounding area loped into a stillness not usually found in time and space. However, the farther they tread down the path, the faster a pitch dark fell around them. Neither could actually see anything, even with their past-perfect sight, and so they squeezed each other’s hand a little harder. Neither dared speak, either, for fear of what would answer.

The point they started to really feel they're lost, they came upon remains ofan old, mossy stone complex. Violet midnight eased their sight into a clearing of immensely tall trees. The chill air carried with it a refreshing taste of ocean salt. 

The crumbled stones and wooden posts breathed life. It certainly was quiet, but not enough. In what survived of a standing fireplace, they discovered a small opening letting out pressure. A door.

Crowley’s golden eyes shined softly as he smirked at Aziraphale.

“Think this is it, angel?”

She sighed, and gave herself permission to be a bit stressed.

“It damn well better be. I’ve never crossed so many dimensions in all my life, I swear it. And sideways as well??”

“Want to turn back?”

“Absolutely not, dear boy. After you.”

“Right, then.”

Crowley felt around the stone for some sort of nook, but it dissolved into light before he could find it. He kissed his angel’s knuckles before leading her into the next place.

Bathed in light, a large Edwardian style complex sprawled across a large valley. Directly behind them stood a very tall doorway, made of familiar stacked stones, with an iron door that shut with a clank. Golden trees nicely pepper the grounds, along with exotic shrubbery and strange plants flowering.

Creatures, some only somewhat human-looking, roamed under trees, or sat conversing at tables. There was even a group playing some sort of contact sport with high energy plasma.

A stray bundle of light hurdled straight towards them. Crowley intimidated it to fly around them, and it caused quite a crater some way off. He unleashed his more reserved glare for the players looking dumbly in their direction, and they found themselves half stuck in the ground, accordingly. But then he remembered why he was there at all. The players, though still trapped, felt the slow passing of a predator when Crowley shifted focus to his angel.

Aziraphale was, currently, gazing dreamily ahead, humming a lovely tune to herself.

Inside, Crowley melted. Outside, he kissed her temple, and she hummed satisfactorily. Then they headed for the front building.

Just as they stepped through the large, rounded doorway, a woman-shaped being in layering white approached them.

“Welcome to Reed. The Court wishes to extend asylum and schooling, however temporary or permanent. May I take your names, please?”

They've made them up already: Mrs. and Mr. Aria and Dion Hardie. Nobody present had any illusions about the nature of the question, or the dubiousness of its previous statement. However, nobody blinked. Earth was filled with entire cultures that Humans had forgotten about for centuries, but nobody here was human.

The woman not-really-smiles.

“Follow me to Admissions, please.”

She turned and glided gracefully, if briskly, down a number of halls until dutifully she paused and knocked at a door with a foreign symbol. Aziraphale thought it looked like smoke, before the door opened.

The woman disappeared after ushering both of them in.

The Admissions Clerk isn’t a creature, per say, but a giant, nebulous form. It criticizes what it sees in an off-hand way, rambling on without speech and barely any vibration. Crowley breathes. He doesn’t know how it will respond to them. It glitches.

“We, respectfully, need to use your faculty resources,” Aziraphale starts. “Until we leave with our family.”

The Clerk held out a mess of limbs. It wanted something.

Aziraphale looked to Crowley. The only things they carried were theirextra weapons.

Crowley shrugged, “It’s your call, love.”

* * *

As the two Celestials walked down hallways crammed with morbid curios, the Angel absently rubbed her empty arm.

Students eyed Crowley, who smirked with his fangs. News already spread of the serpent and their half-absent beau. Perfect. Their cover was working.

They passed a quiet common room, filled with books and untouchables. A man with wild grey hair sat writing furiously in a leather notebook, a song he couldn’t get out of his head repeated over and over:

_"Water was running children were running_

_You were running out of time_

_Under the mountain, a golden fountain_

_Were you praying at the Lares shrine?_

_But, oh oh your city lies in dust, my friend_

_We found you hiding we found you lying_

_Choking on the dirt and sand_

_Your former glories and all the stories_

_Dragged and washed with eager hands_

_But, oh oh your city lies in dust, my friend"_

He was there to do something, he knew it. He knew… what did he know?

He pulled out his pocket watch, thought better of it, and put it back again.

The words spilled into his notebook, filling it.

What was the time? _There was no time_ , there was no time. _No such thing as time._

* * *

Their personal wing dripped with human cultures long passed and world wide. The only word that came to Crowley’s mind was ‘pillage’.

“I didn’t see anything, did you?”

Aziraphale stopped in front of a large map of the grounds. It shifted depending on where the looker was seeking, laying the estate bare. But with no details, she was left with local knowledge.

“No. We might try in the quiet hours. Assuming there is such a thing. The Fair Ones aren’t particularly known for sleep.”

Crowley found the bar with a triumphant ‘wahoo’. He poured two glasses of something dark.

“Can you use it?”

The angel sighed and turned to one of the death deities on the far wall. She shook her head.

“Perhaps they will have an idea, being everywhere in this place. You know, I get the strange feeling they’re the main subjects of study here.”

Memories of a rather intense conversation with a similar transitional god went through his mind.

But they were only memories. No instinctual rush, no echos with varying voices. He found most of his memories like this, save for one particular topic. It turned him cold.

“Angel…”

“Yes, love?”

“Remember when I couldn’t recall a damn thing about the Reed Division Ascendant Court?”

“Yes, you were quite— oh.” Aziraphale glanced at the name of the map again.

_’ **RE.D.A.CT.ED.** ’_

_‘REED DIVISION ASCENDANT COURT’_

She exhaled sharply. All those nestled dimensions would have a peculiar effect on any mind. In fact, she hadn’t been too sure that her ambivalence wasn’t solely part of her cover. But the TARDIS had to be here.

“What else do you remember?”

Crowley put his drink down. “That we should leave as soon as possible.”

“Whatever for, we just—!”

“Angel, they are _definitely going to kill us_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ~x


	3. Boomerang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Boomerang" is an album title by The Creatures.
> 
> I'm sorry it's a bit late, there's been so... /much, lately.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Aziraphale sipped at her drink, perplexed. 

“Darling, they’ve no clue who we are. There is time.”

Crowley shifted in his chair.

“I’ve been here before,” he said quietly.

“Sorry, what?”

“I remember this place, now, because I’ve been here,” Crowley looked miserable, “with The Doctor, once before. If he’s here, they’re keeping him locked up somewhere.”

Aziraphale then stepped around the table, to lean on it close to Crowley. If he were human, he’d be pale and shaking.

“What happened, love?”

“Adam was making a deal with The Fair Ones for the end of the war. The Doctor went to advocate for him, of course. I was supposed to advise, thought I could find out more about Their operations, but everything went wrong.”

There were very few instances which had Crowley reeling with this much guilt. 

“He told me to get back to you before they got to me. Remember when you found me wandering around Colorado, and I was dazed for about a month?”

Aziraphale couldn’t keep the quiet horror from her face. 

“But Crowley, that was…”

Crowley ran his hands over his face and hair.

“Almost a century ago, I know, I know… Angel, I messed up, so, so badly, I…”

The Angel smoothed her hand on his shoulder and interrupted the downward spiral.

“My love, you did exactly what you were supposed to do. How were you to know any different?”

He nervously intertwined his hand with hers as Aziraphale spoke.

“Besides, we’re here now. We’ve got a plan. The war is over, love… we just have to retrieve what’s ours.”

Crowley closed his eyes and exhaled very slowly. When he brought her hand to his face, she came around the back of him and kissed his head.

“We’ve got to find him, Aziraphale. Kid’s been through more than enough already.”

“We will. We’re starting tonight.”

***

 _There’s no time._ There’s no time. What’s the time? _No, time doesn’t exist._ No time.

The gray haired man put his pocket watch away, once again unopened. A gentle fire gave the tiny room little light. Curios and poisonous things were crammed into the spaces between books and plants. He paced between the couch and the light, muttering. He didn’t touch anything. There was no time.

Crowley wandered past square staircases and high, round windows. A large, round pattern on the wall glowed in gold when he got too near it, and rested when he stepped back. There weren’t symbols he recognized, even in Reed. What it did remind him of was a gigantic eye. Somebody really liked the slanted brush around here. The sigils painted with it looked more like graffiti as time went on.

Deep within the inner gardens was where he found a thin waterfall, slowly disintegrating a large statue of a Death God. Suddenly, there wasn’t anything more to say about entropy.

Several eyes were on him. They weren’t from the statue.

He was just turning around when Aziraphale came running up to him, eyes misty. She didn’t say anything, just took his hand, and they walked out of the room.

When they got to the small room with the fire and murmuring old man, Crowley stopped and held his breath. 

The Doctor… but something was terribly… off. 

Aziraphale was trying to speak to him, but he brushed her off. The muttering got harsher, and more sorrowful.

So Crowley did the only thing he could think of— what he came there to do. He confidently swaggered over, like it was any other day. 

“Hey, kid. Whatcha got there? Hm?”

The Doctor stopped, gears clearly turning in his head. Yet he wasn’t quite grasping it.

“‘Kid’? Who’s kid? There’s no time, no time I tell you!”

Crowley stopped in front of him, wishing he could reveal himself. Not that it would do much at this point. The only thing remotely similar were his eyes. He sighed heavily, and put a hand round the back of The Doctor’s neck. Eyes remained in contact as Crowley gently brought their foreheads together. 

“I’m so, so sorry, kid,” he whispered. The Doctor only looked perplexed, but curious. Crowley removed his necklace, a broken off piece of a home made Hekate Icon, and put it in The Doctor’s hands.

“What is this? I know this… what do I know?”

A ruckus just down the hall interrupted them.

Crowley broke away smoothly, summoned the two weapons from his arms, and got ready to fight whatever came through that doorway. They weren’t taking him again.

The Icon liquified in The Doctor’s hands. It fused with the TARDIS key hidden beneath its layers, alchemizing to acerbic levels. The two Celestials felt a twinge of something in response, but the event unlocked something very important in the Time Lord’s mind as it entered him.

“Time!” The Doctor straightened up, still glowing faintly. “I know what I need to do! You, where’s my TARDIS, are you hiding it, because I’m about to get very, very cross!”

Aziraphale smiled brightly. “Doctor, thank goodness that worked! Listen, we are trying to bring you and Idris back home. We haven’t found Her just yet, but—”

“What, how do you know that name?”

“Oh dear. Crowley, is it safe to turn back yet?”

The clattering and raze of destruction outside the room continued, getting closer. Not about to risk decapitation by peeking around the corner, Crowley tested his grip and exhaled.

“To what, angel, we’ve been five forms since the war ended! Has it worked yet?”

Then, he saw it all. From the moment Crowley last left him, up to just now. He remembered what they did to repeatedly try to convince him that he didn’t know anything, and that there wasn’t any time— just to start the script over and leave him alone and anxious.

He removed the pocket watch they gave him and destroyed it with one hand.

This place was going to burn. It took him .563245 seconds to figure out every complexity of how.

“Doctor…?”

“That’s better. Aziraphale, is that you? It’s been a while, it seems!” The Doctor hugged the blonde before him, and whispered, “What happened to your partner, he seems very stressed.”

Aziraphale whispered back, “Well, everybody forgets this network the moment they leave the premises. We followed a strange article in the newspaper that claimed a weapons organization has ‘stolen time’. When Crowley acclimated to this place again, he grieved what he’d forgotten. I imagine he won’t let you out of his sight again, dear boy.”

The Doctor sighed heavily and looked to Crowley. His eyes slid to the doorway, and the rancor coming through it. “It’s a shame. Listen Aziraphale, no one can get their hands on this key, and what I’m about to do is very dangerous.”

“But Doctor, we—”

“Here, take this.” The Time Lord slipped his leather journal into Aziraphale’s bag, then held her by the shoulders. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. See you soon!”

Then he ran, past Crowley, and into the din.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Fic on hiatus, for the time being.


	4. Pluto Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update, wahoo!
> 
> Chapter title is a song from The Creatures (my favorite one!)
> 
> Please enjoy x

“DOCTOR!” Crowley shouts, before running after him.

But The Doctor just stood there, in the middle of the hallway. Hands down, glancing around like it was as he expected it to be.

Crowley skid to a stop in front of him, curved swords out, defensive.

The ruckus stopped. There was nobody there.

“Come on,” The Doctor complained loudly, speaking to the walls and ceiling. “Really, I’m old enough to know what empty noise sounds like!”

Aziraphale walked cautiously out of the room, looking behind him. Students were starting to peek out, braver now that the clattering ceased. 

“A rouse…” 

Crowley was impressed, or he would be if he weren’t tense.

“We have what’s ours,” the Demon announced, “and we’re leaving with him. We no longer require your facilities.”

“That’s the deal you made?” The Doctor sounded surprised, if a little bit flattered. He casually put his other hand in his pocket and grinned at Aziraphale.

“Let’s go, please.” Aziraphale gently linked arms with him as they started out for the lawn.

Almost everyone within hearing distance got a shocked eyeful of them as they passed. Or, at least, a raised eyebrow. They all knew about the crazy old man, who they called The Grey Lord, going on about time and muttering in front of a fire with a pocket watch or a journal, keeping himself in the same room for decades. They were mystified by him, until he became a solid part of daily life. Like ancient lore, and an unofficial mascot of sorts.

The door was in sight, but nobody could breathe with relief— the white-clad Headmistress stood resolutely in front of it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She smiled cruelly.

“This man is our family. We came for him specifically.” Aziraphale held a little tighter to The Doctor.

Students had gathered within throwing distance, watching, mostly perplexed.

“First, that is no ‘man’,” She said. “Second, he’s as much a part of the school as anyone in residence, and therefore belongs to us. Ask them. You, Faeling, do you remember a time without The Grey Lord, hm?”

Struck by sudden involvement, a young Fair One nonetheless gazed at the three beings before the Headmistress. They spoke to The Doctor directly.

“Do you belong here, Grey Lord?”

The Doctor smiled, grateful for their phrasing. He stepped out of Aziraphale’s arm, and faced the Headmistress. From out of his pocket, he held the crushed pocket watch high. Then he answered the student.

“Not anymore.”

The Headmistress scowled.

“What is this you have?”

A laugh. “My freedom.” The Doctor dropped the pocket watch. He clasped his hands in front of him. “Kindly move.”

Her scowl only deepened, the air around her becoming heavy. The company felt a primal sense of lightning building up, ready to lash out. The students felt it as well.

The Doctor’s head dipped as he breathed out a moment. Then he regained his posture. “Please.”

“You think I win wars by compassion? That I made Heaven a ruin because I’ve said ‘please’?”

“Well it never hurts to try.”

Crowley slowly passed Aziraphale one of his swords. They came to stand, behind The Doctor, side by side. A choreography well versed.

Aziraphale looked around at the students, inching closer, as did her partner.

She whispered, almost inaudibly, “Do you see it?”

“Yeah,” he said. “War-torn.”

“YOU WILL NOT LEAVE.”

The Headmistress was growing more nebulous and threatening by the second.

“Mhm, and why’s that?”

“YOU AND THAT BOX ARE OUR WEAPON.”

“Ohhh. Well there’s your problem! You see, that box is actually kind of my ride… as well as my home. It’s not really a weapon. You want it, you can’t have it. See you’ve actually taken two things from me in the last century, so in fact, you need to return them to me! Right now… Please.”

Silence.

Then, blinding rage, with light in tow. The sound knocked them off their feet. Plasma bolted around, but it didn’t hit The Doctor, or Aziraphale, or Crowley. It was being guided away by the students, many of them taking burns for their effort. Soon, though, they grounded the energy way out in the field around them. It was like turning soil for a field of crops.

Several forms of magic encircled the tempest, trying to tame and capture it. A few students were yelling out attack plans they’d learned and adapted from fighting classes and casual sports. Others were healing the wounded. Nobody was holding back.

Low on the ground, The Doctor turned to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“I really thought that would work!”

“We need to get you to the TARDIS, Doctor!” Aziraphale willed her sword to form a bangle around her wrist.

“It’s not here!” he answered. “That’s why I asked!”

“Well where the heaven is it then?!” Crowley collapsed his sword as well, clearly ready to move.

“It’s in a vault!”

“What?!”

The Doctor didn’t have time to continue, as he and his companions were being pulled out from under fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! x


End file.
